Uncanny
by nothing-chan
Summary: "I can't leave Kiku, I can't," He reached behind himself, the wild eyes of the depraved boy across the glass separating human and machine screaming as he picked up the myriad of wires, all flowing to the nape of his neck, pulsating and glowing vibrant hues under the fluorescents above. "I'm not yours."


"I had a bad day today."

Alfred uncrossed his lank legs, hands snatching onto his knees and vaulting him forward, glass eyes quirked.

"What happened?"

Kiku touched his own cheek, fingers a callous rubbing the smoothed milk of his unblemished skin. He covered his mouth, hiding behind the cracks in his knuckles.

"Ivan threw my research paper in the toilet. "

"Research paper?" Alfred tilted his head, like a puppy fastened to a noise, perked ears decoding the alien notes into a brain much to tiny for their gargantuan body.

"Right, ah, it's a paper you use information to write," Kiku revealed his mouth for a moment, only to speak the words clearly, before concealing it again; "I did mine on Amelia Earhart."

"The pilot?"

"Yes."

Alfred sat back, arms crossed now, lips moving and moving as he mumbled to himself, eyes trained to the ceiling. Kiku watched, watched the expanse of his tan skin as it twitched around his neck, dipping to his collarbones, deep and cavernous and holding mysteries years in the making.

"I like Amelia Earhart," He looked back down, perfectly sculpted teeth smiling, cherub cheeks rose in everlasting joy. Perfection.

"I do too."

Alfred scratched at his chin, not itchy, but a programmed human action to fit smoothly into the conversation. A scratched CD sliding into the drive, and he opened his mouth again, tongue flickering.

"Why did he throw your paper in the toilet?" Kiku pressed his palms into his thighs, rubbing them up and down and across the coarse school uniform fabric until they felt as if they were burning, Alfred's eyes trained to him the whole time. He seared his skin until it began to tingle up his arm, brain frazzled with energy and sparks of cotton fire. The pain stopped when he lifted his hands and glanced at the sanguine stain smiling up the base of his skin, no longer a distraction from the conversation, but an annoyance, itching and tickling as he blew onto them.

"He said…" Kiku took a sliced second to purse his lips again and whistle onto the singed surface, ice with a hint of warm, liquid spit, "I don't have friends."

"And that's a reason to ruin your report?"

"I suppose so."

"I don't understand."

Kiku looked up, a synopsis of numbers trilling behind Alfred's electronic blue eyes, wide in earnest, "Me neither."

"Here, let me see," Alfred stretched his hand out, motioning for the still fiery hands that the Japanese boy always kept close to his face, centimeters away from covering him and bulwarking him from whatever unpleasant thing got too close to him, whether it be a poorly executed punch or the whisper of embarrassment that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

Kiku's dank, almond eyes sat worriedly as he pressed his hand to the cold; winter void of snow seeping into his skin and leaving him stuffed with the feeling of peppermint leaves in his mouth.

In the deep, darkness of January, Kiku would jump into banks of packed, dense snow, burying himself until his childlike body was submerged and his parents called for him, their voices hoarse. The everlasting quiet of suffocation accompanied the ice cracking around his bones superbly, so he remained wordless, curling his small fingers into the waves of snow like locks of hair and opening his mouth to bite into the tasteless world around. He ate his way through the dirt and leaves jamming into his teeth, brain skittering around the skull cage it sat in while the cold began to make him cry globular tears, running down his icicle nose.

His parents always found him, pulled him free, wiped his face, and then smothered him with the warmth of reality.

It had been 10 years since Kiku had felt cold like that.

He felt it now.

Alfred kept his gaze as the feeling subsided the harsh flame that sat in the pit of Kiku's stomach, quenching it, cooling it, leaving it blank and dry as he withdrew his hand, jittery and rattling off numbers with his teeth.

"Do you have any friends?" Alfred was recovered and quick to move on, rubbing his own wrist and humming cordially, whereas Kiku whispered to himself and clutched his chest, drowned by nothing but blanched white and the smell of hotel rooms.

"I have you."

"I don't count," Alfred laughed, accepting his fate, brushing away a strand of lonely hair, an optic fiber dangling in his LED vision.

"W-Why not?" Every time Kiku spoke his mouth let out a puff of white smoke, dissolving into the air and resting atop their stagnant conversation.

"Because I'm not real."

Kiku hated when Alfred said things like this, he hated Alfred, he hated this.

"Yes you are."

Alfred stretched his arms out, humanoid skin squeaking in their falsified joints as he pushed them into new directions. A bell above sounded, pitched high, ringing low, signaling the coming end to their conversation, leaving Kiku shaking more than he had been before.

"Will you come see me again?"

"It's not fair."

Alfred blinked, eyelids screwed tight to his forehead, "What is?"

"You, you're not fair. Why aren't you allowed to leave? Why can't you be real? Why can't you come with me? Just once."

Alfred swallowed, unneeded, mouth empty and parched, a small heart inside his throat twining.

"I can't leave Kiku, I can't," He reached behind himself, the wild eyes of the depraved boy across the glass separating human and machine screaming as he picked up the myriad of wires, all flowing to the nape of his neck, pulsating and glowing vibrant hues under the fluorescents above. "I'm not yours."

The beauty of his computerized human façade began to fade as he became rigid, discarding the cords, turning back to his customer.

"I really enjoy talking to you; please make sure to visit me again!"

"Alfred-"

"You can schedule another visit at the front desk, I hope you do!"

"Alfred-"

"I'm always here to listen!"

"Please."

The room cut into silence as his automated recording came to an end, face twisting to a hellish smile, a grotesque mix of features that did not belong to Alfred, but to something dead, something uncanny, something not human and lifeless, stooped over and awaiting the next time it was restored to the vitality encoded inside him.

Kiku was not cold anymore; he was sweating as he exited the room, making way for a tall, frowning man, face sparking to life as he heard the intimate ring of Alfred's voice.

"Ludwig! I'm so happy to see you!"

The line to enter stretched out the door, down the street, to the stars, each person silent, patiently awaiting for their own fix, their own chance to be important, to speak, to listen, to have one thing under control, whether that thing be human or not. It was prostitution of kindness, introduced into a society where money was abundant; yet feeling was lost, tucked away once a soul grew too old to entice the care of their parents. Alfred was that automaton, that beautiful, silky, construction of machinery that made you feel beautiful, made you survive the bleakness and oblivion of ongoing days, gray and tainted, cajoled to life at the site of his radiant blue eyes, asphyxiated to the point of ecstasy at his smothering attention, finally worth something, _finally._

But Kiku was lost, empty, lonely, lonely, lonely, and he tasted salt water on his lips as he was stung by the heaviness of the July air.

Did robots cry? Would they short out, drown in their own emotion, or could they blubber like humans until they were left with a pounding head and ashamed memory, clutching a lamppost with their bleeding hands, screaming until their lungs were raw.

Kiku began to vomit on the street, eliciting gasps and gawks from mothers walking their children in the putrid night and couples stationed about. His stomach was burning, setting itself afire as he retched up white rice and overcooked salmon, spitting the sadness and shallowness of Alfred onto the Earth below, swimming to the gutter, filtering away until all that was left was a feverish boy with an obsession with the unreal crouched to the ground, larger than the moon itself.

* * *

_Hello._

_For those who follow me, sorry for not uploading anything for some time. First I was in North Carolina, then Hawaii, then I got to enjoy the start of my summer with a broken computer, fun fun._

_Anyway, I was up late last night thinking about how much Alfred F. Jones means to me, and how I sometimes forget he isn't real, and that people will one day forget about him, despite how much he has done for me and how happy he really makes me feel. Somewhat depressing, seeing as how he is so important to me, and that he deserves to be remembered._

_So, Kiku has the same thinking here, Alfred is all that gives him purpose, unfortunately, the feeling is not mutual, and Alfred's memory is wiped clean every night, leaving Kiku with an empty mind and heart._

_Please review, favorite, and enjoy your summer._


End file.
